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Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Requiem for a Fallen Star by Shane Gericke

Shane Gericke has been held at knifepoint, hit by lightning, and shaken the cold sweaty hand of Liberace. He was born to write thriller novels! His latest is Torn Apart, a finalist for the Thriller Award for Best Novel, and a Book of the Year at Suspense Magazine. Shane, whose last name is improbably pronounced YER-kee, spent 25 years as a newspaper editor, most prominently at the Chicago Sun-Times, before jumping into fiction. An original member of International Thriller Writers, he was chairman of the ThrillerFest literary festival in New York City and founding director of its agent-author matching program, AgentFest. He also belongs to Mystery Writers of America and the Society of Midland Authors. His novels—available in print and e-books—are in translation worldwide, and his national bestselling debut, Blown Away, was named the best first mystery of 2006 at RT Book Reviews. He lives in the Chicago suburb of Naperville, the home of world-famous detective Dick Tracy, with whom Shane shares no resemblance except steely jaw and manly visage. Check him out at http://www.shanegericke.com, and on Facebook and Twitter.

Requiem for a Fallen Star

By Shane Gericke

People ask why I write.

I respond with a variety of answers, all of which are true:

Satisfaction. Money. The nobility of honest work. The fact I’m happy when I write and I’m cranky when I don’t.

But there’s one big reason that dwarfs everything else:

I want the good guys to win.

That doesn’t always happen in the real world. In real life, evil triumphs and goodness gets its lights punched out. Not always, but often enough to discomfort and sadden. To make us reflect too often on the what-might-have-beens of decent lives snuffed too soon.

But in fiction, I rule. From a moon made of green cheese to bullets that bounce like sponge rubber to heroes that run seemingly forever, I can make anything happen.

And I do.

In my fictional world, heroes win and villains get what’s coming to them. That can be jail. More often, it’s death, usually painful, always creative.

Because in real life, the good die too tragically and too young. Here is how it happens in real life, when you’re a cop in Chicago . . .

You’re born. You grow. Your family adores you. So do your friends. Likewise the neighborhood that shaped you, and you in turn helped shape.

When you’re old enough to know what’s what, you decide to join up, give a little back. Two tours in Iraq; Army green, hoo-ah! Breaking the bad guys, defending the good.

You survive the killing sands, move back into the ’hood. It’s changed. Once vibrant and free, it’s slouching toward Gomorrah, infected with killers and dopers, bangers and thieves. Good people run. More run scared.

You decide to join up again; this time the cops, Chicago blue, hoo-ah! Just like your Pop, retired now, but then, as now, a hell of a sergeant-man. He’s not scared like the other good folks. But he’s worried. And if he is . . .

You decide to double down.

You could live anywhere in Chicago: Downtown. Uptown. A safe-as-the-suburbs neighborhood of cops, firefighters and politicians: MountGreenwood. Sauganash. Edgebrook. Beverly. But you chose the ’hood because you want to make it better, and only personal commitment counts. So you find a place, start working with the children, the ones that can still be swayed, still be saved. Become guardian of your neighborhood park, the one named after Nat King Cole.

You step up to community leader, then to president of the local advisory council. All the while you’re driving that CPD blue-and-white, a cop three years next month, working your snitches, warning the bangers, swinging a stick, keeping it real, hoo-ah! Telling anyone who’ll listen, and a bunch of knuckleheads who won’t, that your Chatham neighborhood’s gonna be great again, just you wait and see.

You love the work and it loves you back. You become good at it. Become exceptional. The ’hood starts believing and begins to rally. Some long rows to hoe, no argument. But you’re 30, you’ve got the time, you can hack it. You’re son and soldier, cop and protector, and the good start breathing again. You’re happier than don’t know when . . .

It’s May 19, 2010. A nothing-special Wednesday, day floating by, plunging into night. You hop on your motorcycle. The shiny one you bought ’cause you’re young and you’re single and you survived and you can.

You’ve pocketed the pictures you just snapped at a D.C. memorial service for fallen police, knowing Pop’ll like them.

You roll over to your parents’ home. You park at the curb, admire the neat, meticulous brickwork laid by your grandfather. You’ve got your own place, sure. But home is where you grew up, where your ancestors’ spirits breathe, where Mom and Pop still live.

You’re home.

You walk inside and have a chat. You can tell Pop’s proud. Of your shiny new ride. Of your decision to put on a uniform and fight for your country, then strap on a gun and fight for your city. Of going to the police memorial in your nation’s capital. Of bringing home the pictures.

Of you. Pop is proud of you.

Police Officer and Iraq combat veteran Thomas Worthham IV

You talk about everything; gas about nothing. Before you know it’s 11:25. Time to get gone ’fore night slides back to day. Smiling, you walk to the curb, swing your leg over your steed. Pop’s waving from a front window. You’re waving back . . .

Two young skinnies pop from nowhere, screw a gun in your ear: Gimme the motorcycle, fool! Pop sees ’em from the window, belts a holler: Leave my son alone!

Pop charges from the house with his own cop gun. A red Nissan getaway screeches into the curb. Four skinnies now, two in the car, two in the street, their kill-gun hunting fresh meat. Pop fires. One’s dead. Pop fires. Second’s crippled. Pop’s going for the triple then the grand-slam . . .

The two in the car roar off. They run you over. They drag you a quarter-block, over asphalt and garbage and glass. Finally you fall off, roll unceremoniously into the gutter.

The officer's motorcycle and the sheet-covered body of one of the robbers—who was shot dead by Wortham’s father moments after his son was slain by four men trying to steal the motorcycle—are seen at center. (Chicago Sun-Times photo)

Your name is Thomas Wortham.
Your Pop is Thomas Wortham.
His Pop is Thomas Wortham,
and so is Grandpa’s dad.

Four generations,
from a Chatham once so lovely,
they’re gathering ’round an angel now,
blood dripping from his hands.

You’ve been dumped into a gutter
cold and lonely, garbage mounting,
and only God can mourn you,
’cause four killers didn’t care.

Because that’s how it happens,
when you’re a cop in Chicago.
When murder’s in four shriveled hearts,
your blood drips on your hands . . .

On May 19, 2010, a Chicago Police officer named Thomas Wortham IV—an Iraq veteran who came home to police one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago, the South Side’s Chatham, because he loved the good people still living in the ’hood—was gunned down in front of his parents because four young robbers wanted his motorcycle. It was an outrageous symbol of a deadly year for American law enforcement: line-of-duty deaths leaped 37 percent from the previous year, according to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund, to 160. Five of them were Chicago cops: Worthham, Thor Soderberg, Michael Flisk, Michael Bailey and Alan Haymaker.

I can’t keep them safe. I can’t keep anyone safe. I don’t have that power. Nobody does.

A police squad car sits in front of the home of Chicago Police Officer Thomas Wortham IV's parent's home, as residents do their morning walk at Cole Park. (Chicago Tribune photo)

But what I can do is create an alternate world for my readers to slip into when the real one overwhelms. A world where good guys win and bad guys don’t, where decency is rewarded and jerkdom slapped. Where tension and trauma and crazy and outrage and love and caring and hope reign just like the real world, but at the end, justice triumps.

For everyone.

And that, ultimately, is why I write crime fiction.

So the Thomas Worthams can live.

Thomas Wortham III (center) salutes as the casket of his son, Chicago Police Officer Thomas Wortham IV, is brought out following funeral services at Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. Wortham was shot to death May 20, in a robbery attempt across from his parents' home in the Chatham neighborhood. (Chicago Tribune photo)

And thank you, Kaye. For having me here to share this with your readers., for the selfless work you do supporting all us writers, and for being my friend. I've been out of Internet range all day and just getting to see this.

As you say, Shane, this is why you write it. And I'll say, this is why I read it. I gave his coffin photo a civilian's salute. You did a moving and honest and proud post, about good. And why we seek it, because life and death often happens by far the wrong way. We readers all know this, and use words like yours to make us see justice done right. I am going to find a book of yours to read, and think of this piece while reading it. Thanks Shane. And thanks Kaye, for having him post here on this wonderful blog of yours.Bobbie

"Oh, Kaye!" A monthly feature at Jungle Red

Look for me at Jungle Red the first Sunday of each month. Just click this picture and you will magically arrive in the land of Jungle Red Writers. Eight smart and sassy crime fiction writers dish on writing and life. It's The View. With bodies. - And now, me. As resident commentator, reader, visionary, mystery maven, arbiter, pundit and prognosticator. Kind of like Andy Rooney, 'cept I'm still living

Harley's New book

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CLOTHES LINES from 75 Western North Carolina Women Writers

CLOTHES LINES from 75 Western North Carolina Women Writers

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If the photos are not ours, I have tried whenever possible to caption or link the photos to their source. This hasn't always been possible as there are a lot of uncredited images available through the internet.

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Books Read During 2015

Every year I promise myself I'm going to keep a log of books I'm reading. And I immediately forget. Then I remember again, but only after I've already read a few books, but can't be sure I'll remember them all and so - - can't bring myself to start the list. It's sort of like missing the first 30 minutes of a movie. I just can't watch it if I've missed the beginning. And being the anal ol' soul I am, I can't bring myself to start a list if I can't be sure it's going to be a complete one.So.I decided to keep a list during 2010 and found it to be a fun thing. Especially for a compulsive list-maker like myself.

THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THE RELUCTANT BOOK FAIRY by Elizabeth George (ARC)

THE NATURE OF THE BEAST by Louise Penny (ARC)

THE WITCH OF BOURBON STREET by Suzanne Palmieri (ARC)

UNDERSTANDING PAT CONROY by Catherine Seltzer

GHOST IMAGE by Ellen Crosby

NEVER DIE ALONE by Lisa Jackson (ARC)

MULTIPLE EXPOSURE by Ellen Crosby

A DIFFERENT REFLECTION by Jane L. Gibson (ARC)

MEMORY MAN by David Baldacci

DESOLATION ROW by Kay Kendall

THE FORGOTTEN ROOM by Lincoln Child (ARC)

THE TRUTH ACCORDING TO US by Annie Barrows (ARC)

THE OTHER DAUGHTER by Lauren Willig (ARC)

WYLDING HALL by Elizabeth Hand (ARC)

THE TRAVELLING TEASHOP by Belinda Jones

NOWHERE BUT HOME by Liza Palmer

LIAR'S BENCH by Kim Michele Richardson (ARC)

STEALING MARILYN MONROE by Sophie Warren

THE WEDDING CAKE TREE by Melanie Hudson (ARC)

THE SOUND OF GLASS by Karen White (ARC)

THE FAERIE TREE by Jane Cable (ARC)

BEING AUDREY HEPBURN by Mitchell Kriegman

THE THIRD WIFE by Lisa Jewell (ARC)

THE SUMMER OF GOOD INTENTIONS by Wendy Francis (ARC)

THE STRANGER by Harlan Coben

CREATURE COMFORTS by Trisha Ashley (ARC)

BRADSTREET GATE by Robin Kirman (ARC)

PLANTATION SHUDDERS by Ellen Byron (ARC)

THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH by Dana Gynther (ARC)

PLAY ON: NOW, THEN, AND FLEETWOOD MAC: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY by Mick Fleetwood and Anthony Bozza

BEFORE I WAKE by Anne Frasier

HUGO AND ROSE by Bridgette Foley ( ARC)

SOMEONE IS WATCHING by Joy Fielding (ARC)

PERMANENT SPRING SHOWERS by Scott D. Southard (ARC)

TRIGGER WARNING by Neil Gaiman

NIGHTBIRD by Alice Hoffman (ARC)

THE IDEA OF LOVE by Patti Callahan Henry (ARC)

PLEASANT DAY by Vera Jane Cook (ARC)

PARIS, HE SAID by Christine Sneed (ARC)

THE GHOSTS OF PEPPERNELL MANOR by Amy M. Reade (ARC)

HUSH HUSH by Laura Lippman

MURDER IN HINDSIGHT by Anne Cleeland (ARC)

MURDER IN RETRIBUTION by Anne Cleeland

MURDER IN THRALL by Anne Cleeland

THE ART OF BAKING BLIND by Sarah Vaughn (ARC)

LITTLE BLACK LIES by Sandra Block (ARC)

BLUEPRINTS by Barbara Delinsky (ARC)

THE GUEST COTTAGE by Nancy Thayer (ARC)

LAVINA by Mary Marcus (ARC)

IN WILDERNESS: A NOVEL by Diane Thomas (ARC)

WHAT HAPPENS IN TUSCANY by T.A. Williams (ARC)

IT STARTED AT SUNSET COTTAGE by Bella Osborne (ARC)

THE WOMAN IN THE MOVIE STAR DRESS by Praveen Asthana

THE DWELLING PLACE by Elizabeth Musser

THE BODY AT WRAPP'S MILL: A Grist Mill Mystery with Marcy Dehanne by Celia H. Miles

WOMEN IN CLOTHES by Sheila Heti and Heidi Julavits

THE CATALAIN BOOK OF SECRETS by Jessica Lourey

WINTER AT THE DOOR by Sarah Graves

WEST OF SUNSET by Stewart O'Nan

THE MAGNIFICENT SPINSTER by May Sarton

THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN by Paula Hawkins

A FRENCH PIROUETTE by Jennifer Bohnet

SEASON OF THE DRAGONFLIES by Sarah Creech

LAND OF ENCHANTMENT by Liza Wieland (ARC)

WALKING ON TRAMPOLINES by Frances Whiting (ARC)

FTC Disclosure Notice

FTC has a new regulation which went into effect in December, 2009 which says, basically - "Amateur Bloggers to Disclose Freebies or Be Fined." Significantly fined. So. Since I happen to be an amateur blogger who sometimes receives free books, here's my required FTC Disclosure Notice: Dear FTC - Regarding review copies of books obtained for this blog. No other compensation is accepted beyond review copies of books - ever. When I do write a review, or opinion, the source of the book cited will be disclosed in the post in which the review/opinon appears. If you have questions, please feel free to contact me.